I'd Like to Table Your Resolution
by readyandpsyched
Summary: Price and McKinley, having never met in Uganda, meet three years later at a collegiate Model United Nations conference in Montreal.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is a crack AU in which Elders Price and McKinley never met in Uganda. Instead, they meet three years later at a collegiate Model United Nations conference in Montreal. There is a fair amount of Model UN jargon here, but knowledge of this subject is not in any way necessary for the story._

_Primer: Model UN is an academic simulation of United Nations deliberative bodies or another committee of governing officials in which participants (called delegates) role play as members of that body (as representatives of nations, government officials, etc.) and deliberate on topics relevant to the committee in a one- to four-day conference. Here is a pictorial representation of Model UN (bit . ly / nTiVSf).__ that can help to better set the scene for this story._

* * *

><p>The young man in the gray three-piece suit was holding up a sheet of paper, gesturing at it forcefully with his free hand while addressing the twelve others seated around the conference table. "…This directive currently on the floor seeks to do <em>great harm<em> to the stability of our relations with our allies and the solubility of our already fragile economy. If we pass this, we will _most certainly _not have the international financial and political support we'll need to sustain a ground conflict for more than two weeks, tops. We cannot afford to expend all the political capital we've built up on a foolhardy incursion without having proper information about a perceived threat."

Another young man, wearing a navy blue suit accented with a tiny flag lapel pin let out an incredulous laugh and flicked up his placard. "On the contrary," he began, leaning forward, "The threat against our nation is _very real_ and by ignoring credible intelligence the respected Minister who has just spoken is asking us to leave our border unprotected and vulnerable to attack."

"The 'threat' to which the Minister of Defense refers is unsubstantiated at best and _at worst_ it's a ploy to draw us into an unnecessary conflict that we will not win using resources that we simply don't have."

"The Minister of Foreign Affairs is being _dangerously_ short-sighted in his appraisal of the current crisis and I, for one, question his capability to uphold the duties of his ministry."

"Question my abilities? Without my ministry we'd already have lost public support to a populist uprising and have been bombed into the stone age! The tenuous support of our neighboring allies is the only thing that is keeping us protected right now!"

"_How dare you_ imply that our esteemed armed forces are incapable of protecting our nation! That is near treasonous language, sir. Mr. President, I request a right of reply to these charges on behalf of my office and an inquest into the loyalties of the Minister of Foreign Affairs if he continues to speak so ill of our country."

"_Are you kidding me?_"

The Chair banged his gavel forcefully against the table. "Okay, okay! Order! Cool it down gentlemen. Mr. Defense Minister," he said, turning to the young man in blue, "You know that requests for a right of reply must be made in writing. And we're not doing any…treason investigations at this juncture. In any case, the time for this session has expired. We'll pick this back up and vote of Directive 2.1 when we return tomorrow morning. Ladies and dudes, maps for the pub crawl are in the hallway outside of the ballroom, just make sure you have your wristband on you. If you don't have one, check with Con Services _before_ ten tonight so we're not totally swamped."

The young man in gray gathered his stack of notes, communiqués, press releases and intelligence reports into his portfolio and stuffed it into his bag. With a frustrated sigh, he adjusted the credentials clipped onto his suit coat: Connor McKinley, Minister of Foreign Affairs, Colombian Cabinet, McGill Model United Nations Conference. Junior at William and Mary, major in International Relations, current nemesis of one Kevin Price, acting as Minister of Defense in the cabinet, a junior in Government and Political Economy at Georgetown.

By sheer awards-to-conferences-attended ratio, McKinley and Price were among the most successful delegates in the North American collegiate Model United Nations circuit—not a terribly significant accomplishment in the grand scheme of things, but among their peers (i.e. university student foreign policy wonks, role players, and political nerds) it was a laudable achievement that garnered them considerable admiration from other delegates. The two young men hadn't really crossed paths before, though. They had attended many of the same conferences, but had never participated in the same committee. Now that they were stuck together in a conference room for three days, they realized just how lucky they had been to have never before been forced to work together.

Their negotiation and debating styles couldn't have been more different (or very much the same, depending on who was making the observation), and they clashed almost immediately. The two quickly emerged as the most capable, persuasive and cunning delegates in the committee, but their policies differed so significantly and their methods varied so greatly that it left the committee in a continual stalemate as the two quarreled and refused to compromise. Price was ambitious, charismatic and aggressive, what the regulars called a 'gavel hunter', a seasoned Model UN competitor determined to capture the top honor in his committee—a 'best delegate' gavel—by any means necessary. McKinley was equally as ambitious and arguably as stubbornly aggressive in debate, particularly with Price egging him on, but he was more calculated and open to working with others.

Suffice it to say that they did not get along well.

McKinley threw his bag over his shoulder and jogged out of the conference room after Price, yelling out, "Hey, wait up a minute. Can I talk to you?" He caught up to Price and stopped him by the elevator. "What are you doing in there? You know we can't make any progress toward freeing the hostages if we get drawn into a conflict with the guerrillas."

Price shifted his attaché between his hands impatiently, annoyed at the accusation. "I'm sorry, but I can't ignore that threat. We've been too cautious in the past, and the Minister of Defense has always been a hard-liner when it comes to this. Besides, I don't think we're working off of the same intel."

McKinley cocked his head to the side. "Do you have information you're not sharing with the cabinet?"

"I have a lot of information, not all of it is in the interest of national security to share. Plus, I know how easily information leaks out of your office."

"_How_—I don't have any leaks in my ministry. And…_are you having me wiretapped?_"

Price shrugged noncommittally. "I can't say. I _will_ say that legal surveillance is necessary to prevent illegal activity within our government."

"_But I'm not doing anything illegal!_" McKinley shrieked.

Price smirked with smug satisfaction. "Well then you have nothing to worry about."

"And only the Minister of Information has that jurisdiction! How are you even getting this info?"

"Maybe the Minister of Information owes me some favors. Maybe I have incriminating photos of him. Maybe I get relevant intel passed onto me."

"You've _got_ to be kidding me," McKinley said, shaking his head.

"Hey, I'm just trying to keep our country safe and it seems like the Ministry of Defense is the only post that can be trusted in the cabinet to do that. It's my responsibility to maintain peace and security and if that means-"

"Oh will you just _shut the hell up for one minute_!" shouted McKinley, exasperated. "Look, enough with the rhetoric. We need to work together to get _something_ passed through on this issue. I can't get my directive passed without the support of your…faction. We're clearly the frontrunners in this committee and nothing's going to get done unless we start the ball rolling. So why don't we just _try_ to compromise. I know your guy's a jingoistic, hard-headed hawk who's vying for the President's job once he inevitably gets shot, but there has to be a way that we don't get drawn into a full-out jungle war."

"Speaking on behalf of my '_faction_'," Price said contemptuously, "I don't know if we can consent to any course of action that would not sufficiently address the current threat."

"_Oh, come on_."

"Fine, fine, let me see what you've written up."

McKinley sat down against the wall and took a netbook out of his bag. He motioned for Price to sit, and pulled up a document he and some of the other delegates had been working on, holding it out for Price to read.

"Well, this here, this clause," Price said, pointing to the screen. "It's way too weak. Leaving it that vague will open it up to criticism and misinterpretation and it'll never get passed that way."

"So change it then." McKinley passed the computer over to Price.

"Okay… And this part here. Do you want to give the President absolute power over military spending with no checks or balances? Because that's what this does."

McKinley looked at him slyly. "Well I'd rather he than _you_."

Price grinned. "Touché. That's probably wise from your perspective, considering."

"Yes, exactly. You'd take a military junta over any form of parliamentary-controlled spending, wouldn't you?"

"Hah, in a heartbeat! I mean, if it was me at the top, of course. But, I mean that's just being in character."

"Of course. _In character._"

"But I'm willing to compromise…_I suppose_, in order to get something passed through. But I don't know how much power I can cede to an oversight body just to monitor spending."

"You _have_ to," McKinley huffed. "You and the Vice President are the only hold outs on this. And we all know how unreliable his word is, particularly when it comes to doling out weapons contracts and allocating government funding, so we just need you two to sign onto this."

"With everything I have going for me, why should I sign on to your plan? With the things I know…"

"Hey," McKinley interjected defensively, "Don't think I'm out of the loop. I've got my irons in a lot of fires, too. You forget that my guy is a good friend of the President."

"And _you_ forget that mine is his son-in-law."

"Yes, but that doesn't hold much sway when his legitimate son is the Vice President."

"Legitimate?" Price asked enigmatically.

"_No way_," McKinley gasped. "Do you know something that I don't?"

Price smirked proudly. "I _might_, but surely that's not relevant to this directive, is it? Let's just say it looks like the crisis staff has some tricks up their collective sleeve." He turned back to the computer, reading on. "Okay, so let's look at this part about readiness. This needs to be a lot stronger to get my support."

McKinley put a hand on Price's shoulder and leaned in close, pointing a finger at the preceding paragraph. "It _is_ strong. Look here, this is much stronger that the directive we passed yesterday, before we had this most recent intel, before the bombing."

Price flinched at McKinley's touch, just the slightest bit put off by the physical contact. He shook his head and refocused on the screen. "Well, _obviously_, the Defense Ministry is going to need greater leeway with regards to recruitment, training and conscription."

"You can't _possibly_ be serious about wanting to re-implement a draft. I though we went over this in the first session? That just can't be done, there's zero public support for it."

"Oh, but it _can_ be done, and it's necessary if we're going to engage with the guerillas. It's imperative to national security that we have a strong and ready standing arm—"

"_Oh my God you are absolutely infuriating_," McKinley cried in frustration, throwing his hands in the air. "We_ can't_ have a draft. Only you and the Vice President and the Army Chief of Staff support that."

"And doesn't that tell you something about its necessity?" Price retorted smugly.

"_No one else_ in the cabinet supports it. None of our allies support it. It's _never_ going to pass so why can't we just drop it?"

"Because it's a reasonable demand when we may soon be involved in two border conflicts."

"No it's—it's not reasona—_augh_, I know it's your policy but how can you be _so goddamn inflexible_, you are _so frustrating_." McKinley exhaled slowly and looked at his watch. "Okay, look, I really want to get this done and ready to introduce for tomorrow morning. I have a team meeting in an hour and I didn't have time to get dinner in between the last two sessions, so can we grab some food and hammer this out and be done with it?"

"Yeah, sure, let's just get this over with."

* * *

><p>"Okay, I think that's good," McKinley said, shutting his netbook and sliding it into his bag. He set it on the red plastic diner booth seat and returned to his food.<p>

"Yeah, looks good."

"And you'll support this tomorrow when I introduce it? And we can get a quick and painless unanimous passage?"

"Yes."

"Good, thank God. Finally, we'll be able to move forward." McKinley took a bite of his pita wrap. Price looked around awkwardly, not sure what else to say once they had concluded their committee business. The intricacies of small talk unrelated to politics and foreign affairs often eluded him. "Y'know," McKinley said, breaking the silence, "I've heard a lot about you. Allegedly, you're kind of a superstar around here."

"Well, I don't know about _that_," Price said with a dismissive wave, his feigned bashfulness barely masking his pride. "I mean, I win a lot of awards, our delegation usually wins best large…okay, _maybe_. What exactly have you heard?"

"I heard you made an AC cry when you were Thomas Jefferson in the Second Continental Congress at CMUNNY last year."

Price laughed. "Haha, yeah…that was a good time."

"I heard you singlehandedly got NATO to authorize a multilateral attack on China in some future crisis at Harvard."

"Yep, and we won, too."

"I heard that you successfully played both sides in a joint US-Soviet crisis at ChoMUN and you flipped a bunch of spies in CentCom and then got them arrested and executed."

"That is true, yes. The crisis staff was having a field day with that one."

"I've also heard that you're a real dick in committee."

Price let out a knowing, only slightly embarrassed laugh. "Well, yeah, probably also true. But that's how you get things done. You can't dally around trying to get everyone on board with something. I mean, come on, if I had to wait around trying to make the other ten people in that cabinet who barely understand what their policy is let alone how to negotiate and politick and use their powers to their advantage—if I had to waste time making them happy we'd never get anywhere."

"Yeah…sure…definitely..." McKinley took a sip of coffee. "Oh!" he exclaimed and slapped his hand on the table, realizing something he'd forgotten. "I also heard you're a Returned Missionary!"

"Yeah, I—wait, where did you hear that from?" Price gave him a confused look.

"Grapevine. So am I."

Price's confusion deepened and his expression turned incredulous. "But you can't—I mean you're not—you're not serious, are you?"

McKinley nodded. "Mhmm. Doing the Lord's work, bringing Christ to the heathens, etcetera, etcetera. Two years, just like you."

"But how did you—I mean, I heard you were—I mean, being—"

McKinley chuckled and set his cup down. "Do you mean to ask how did they let _me_ be a representative of the Church? _Me_, being what I assume it is you heard? Y'know, you can say it, right?" He paused. "Well, I didn't tell them I was a big ol' homo until I came back, wherein I was subsequently swiftly and unceremoniously 'let go' as a Latter-Day Saint."

"Gosh," Price responded with a frown, for lack of anything better to say.

"You're not hiding your disapproval very well," McKinley chided. He changed tack and gave Price a brief half-smile, meant to be reassuring. "It's okay. I can understand it. Obviously you're still with the Church. So where did you serve?"

"Orlando, Florida."

"_No shit._ Hah! That must have been just—just fucking _magical_," McKinley effused with heavy sarcasm. "Man, Disney World and sun and palm trees and old people and all that—must have been quite something."

Price smiled wide, reminiscing. "It was really great. Really, really great," he said dreamily. "Where did you serve?"

"Northern Uganda. Moved around a lot, but mainly near the South Sudanese border."

"Holy cow!" Price was taken aback. He grimaced. "That must have been…that must have been tough."

McKinley shrugged. "It was… But it was rewarding. I met a lot of good people. That's where I became interested in development and IR. I was originally planning to study astronomy. Things change."

"Clearly they do."

"Do I detect a hint of derision? Don't worry your pretty little head about it, I don't need to be _saved_, I'm not a _total_ godless sodomite. I still believe in God. I just don't believe in magic plates and personalized planets and crazy stories about ancient races of people and a Church that actively _hates _me."

Price looked away, embarrassed. He fumbled for something to say. "I guess…I guess that's fair."

McKinley pursed his lips and said dryly, "No you don't."

There was an awkward silence. Price shifted uncomfortably in his seat and changed the subject. "I've heard a bit about you through the circuit grapevine, too."

"Oh yeah? What'd you hear?"

"You're an up and comer," Price began, ticking off facts. "You got a best in a GA in your first conference and you've won best or outstanding at your last five conferences. Head delegate a couple times, new Vice President of Membership for your club, predicted to be president next year if Munim doesn't stick around for a fifth year."

"Well, I can tell you right now that Moon isn't sticking around and I _don't _want to be president." McKinley leaned back in the booth, cupping his coffee cup in both hands. "That's a little creepy that you know all that… Oh _God_, are you the type that keeps stats and tracks win records? Trying to scope out the competition? Learn their weaknesses?" He shook his head in disgust. "_Ugh_, you are, aren't you? Well… if you're worried about me being competition, I just started last year, so I've still got the rest of this year and next to surpass whatever your record is. Which, again, I don't really care about."

"Is that a challenge?" asked Price, raising an eyebrow.

McKinley shrugged. "Sure, why not. I'm not too humble to say that I'm pretty damn good at this. I don't take it as seriously as you do, and I don't really care about the awards, but I do enjoy it."

"Hey, I don't do it for the awards. It's about the education, it's a teaching tool to get people to learn more about international affairs, critical thinking and cooperation. I'm the chair of our club, on staff for NCSC since I was a freshman, I'll be Sec-Gen of NAIMUN next year. I even work for UNA-USA. I wouldn't be doing all of this if it was just for me. I do it because I believe in its educational value."

"_Of course you do_," McKinley said with a condescendingly sardonic smile.

"I _do_! I've been doing this since high school."

"Oh yes," McKinley nodded, "And _it shows_."

Price eyed him questioningly. "I'm not sure if that's meant as a compliment or an insult."

McKinley shrugged again and took a long sip. "Just an observation."

* * *

><p>Later that night, Price was struggling through a throng of people to exit the pub. He pushed his way through a crowd at the front entrance, tripped down the stairs and ran smack into McKinley.<p>

"Oof, sorry," Price apologized, regaining his balance. He looked up, recognized McKinley and muttered under his breath, "_of course_." "Sorry," he said again, "I was just trying to get out and get some air. Good evening, Mr. Foreign Affairs Minister."

McKinley nodded deferentially. "Mr. Defense Minister." He was standing near a heater on the sidewalk outside of the bar in a black wool pea coat and a bright blue scarf, chatting with an older couple to his left. He turned and said something to the couple that Price couldn't hear, then turned back to Price.

"Are you here with your team?"

"A few friends, but they're still inside. I can only do so many of these bars full of drunk, screeching 18-year-olds who are just _so psyched_ to be legal here. _Like, OMG you guys we can drink in Canada LOL!_ I'm glad they're having a good time, but _yikes_."

Price let out a small laugh. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"And then someone inevitably fucks up and gets into some kind of trouble and I'm the sober one to swoop in and fix things because I can't help but play 'team dad' to all these rookies."

Price looked genuinely surprised. "That's…unexpectedly compassionate of you."

"Hey, I can be a good person when I'm not dealing with inflexible, self-important Defense Ministers. …Eh, it is a gift and a curse, I guess," McKinley said with a shrug. "Also it's kind of my job as the VP of Membership to keep tabs on everyone since the rest of the executive board is probably out of commission by this point."

"Wait, so, you're not—you don't drink? I guess I just figured with the not being…anymore…"

"You figured incorrectly. I have a number of vices, but no, that's not one of them. Never have. Hanging out in dark, loud basement bars with terrible music and drinking away my rent money isn't really my scene."

"Mine either." He looked around awkwardly. "Well…I should go back in and find my people."

"Okay."

"I'll, uh, see you in committee in the morning."

"Yep."

Price started back toward the entrance, then turned on his heel and eagerly asked McKinley, "Hey! How are you going to vote on that immigration bill if it comes up on the next session? It'd be good if we can get as much support as pos—"

McKinley put up a gloved hand to stop Price. "Hold it right there, buddy. No shop talk between midnight and six a.m. I need to draw the line somewhere between committee and actual life." Price pouted faintly. "I'll see you in session tomorrow morning, yeah?"

"Yeah, okay."


	2. Chapter 2

Saturday's sessions went much the same as the first two days of the conference. The fragile peace McKinley and Price had forged in their jointly-written directive was quickly lost when the next crisis hit and they were back to bickering over hostage extractions, trade embargos and food shortages. By the end of the day the chair and his staff were exhausted from trying to moderate the debate, as were Price and McKinley from spending so many hours arguing.

Still, Price would have preferred to stay in committee than go out that night. He never enjoyed the nightclub events at these conferences. A shady club full of hundreds of pent-up college students who had spent eighteen hours over the last three days role-playing discussions of international affairs was a terrifying prospect, a veritable minefield of bumping and grinding and incomprehensible attempts at conversation shouted over the blaring music. But he went each time because that's what you do, because socializing is a necessary part of the Model UN experience.

That Saturday night was no different that any other Saturday night at any of the myriad other conferences Price had attended. The music was booming and he could barely hear himself think. The club was dark save for the flashing, pulsing lights that disoriented him and made it difficult to focus. He stuck close with some of the other students from his school, making exceedingly awkward attempts at dancing.

A shock of red hair caught his eye and Price saw the Minister of Foreign Affairs, McKinley, across the dance floor. He was…wild, totally uninhibited, smiling with intense joy, arms in the air. How? He pulsed with the music, gyrating as the bass throbbed, in a tight black vest over a white dress shirt. And tight dark jeans…_very_ tight… Price couldn't look away. The sight was mesmerizing, intoxicating…it was surprising and intriguing, it was…

Entirely sinful and wrong and terrible and confusing and _oh goodness, what was he thinking?_ Price flushed and he shook his head, trying to dispel the wholly inappropriate and immoral thoughts that had just crept into his mind. He snuck nervous, guilty glances back at McKinley, then to the floor, then back at McKinley, then back at the floor. "Oh _no_, not again," he muttered to himself, sufficiently freaked out that he was not…totally…uninterested…in that whole situation.

He had to get away. Price fought through the crowd, trying to make it to a side wall, but he was funneled toward the bar instead. Not where he wanted to be. He was backed against a group of people when he felt a hand on his shoulder and whipped around to see a bartender waiting impatiently. "Yeah?" she asked.

"Oh, no, I'm not—" he stammered. But then he thought differently, and with a split-second change of heart, he pointed to the cluster of young women to his left who had just slammed down empty shot glasses onto the bar, and said, "Uh, no, I mean… That. But three." He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and set it on the bar, taking one of the shot glasses in his hand. "_This is what college students do to deal with things, right?_" he thought to himself.

He closed his eyes and, with only a moment of hesitation that maybe it wasn't such a good idea, downed the first shot. He coughed and winced as the alcohol burned his throat. "_Ugh, awful,_" he cringed, but he drank the next two in quick succession and pushed himself away from the bar. He wandered through the crowds, trying unsuccessfully to find his delegation. The effects of the alcohol hit him almost immediately. The lights made it hard to see straight and the chatter and the music and the movement was distracting and disorienting. He stumbled and faltered; he felt strangely buoyant, both agile and uncoordinated.

After a while Price found a small group of schoolmates and sidled up to them, swaying, still uncomfortably, to the music. The crowd pitched back and forth, and he found it difficult to keep his footing. At one point he was pushed backwards and heard a familiar voice yell, "Hey! Watch it!"

Price spun around to see, _of course_, McKinley.

"Hey!" McKinley shouted over the booming music.

Price leaned in too close. "Hey! Whas going on?"

McKinley stepped back, looked Price up and down, and cocked his head, confused by something. "Are you—_you're drunk_! You totally are! How did you even…? Why?"

"_No I'm not_!" Price retorted, following with, "Wait…how can you tell?"

"Hah, I just can."

"I may have…had a few of something, yes," Price acknowledged, nodding. "It's Canada. It doesn't count if it's in Canada. That's…the rules."

McKinley crossed his arms and sported a self-satisfied grin. "I can't believe it. I mean, why—you know what, no, don't answer that yet, don't even tell me. I just want to savor the absurdity of this." McKinley keeled over laughing, holding his sides. "Ha! I can't fucking believe it. Fucking hilarious. I don't even want to know why."

Price shrugged his shoulders and put his hands up. "I jus figured 'Why not?' Y'know? _Why. Not._"

"I guess that's as good a reason as any."

A line of people passed by him and Price stumbled to the side.

"Whoa, there. Be careful," McKinley said, putting a steadying hand of Price's arm.

Price recoiled, yelling "I'm fine!"

"Hah, no, you're not fine," McKinley said with a smirk.

"I'm _totally_ fine. You are. What?"

"What?"

"_What?_"

McKinley shook his head. He leaned in again and shouted, "Where are your friends?"

Price looked around. "Well, I was with some people, and…I seem to have…lost my delegation. I was…trying to find them. They're in there," he gestured toward the center of the dance floor. "In that place."

"You should go find them."

"I couldn't find them. They're in there somewhere, but I couldn't find them. Besides, they don't need me."

"Why don't you—you should get some air."

"_You_ should."

"What?"

"What?"

"What did you say?"

"_What?_"

"Oh good lord, just—_come on_." McKinley huffed, grabbed Price's sleeve and dragged him toward the front of the club. "Your ticket," he demanded.

"What?"

"Your coat check ticket, you have one?"

"Oh, yeah." He dug in his pocket and pulled out a numbered slip of paper. "Here."

McKinley tossed Price his overcoat and the two pushed their way outside. It was snowing lightly. Price shivered and rubbed his hands together. "Gosh, it's freezing out."

"I'm surprised you can even feel it."

"Well…" Price poked at his cheeks. "I can't really feel parts of my face…My head's still kind of swimming."

"I figure." He let out a resigned sigh. "Come on, let me buy you some food."

"Why?"

"Because food is good for you. And it will make you feel not quite so shitty in the morning." McKinley chuckled to himself, smiling ever so slightly at Price's discomfort. "Mormon's first hangover! That is absolutely _precious._ And anyway…also I feel almost a little bit bad for tipping off the American Ambassador and Human Rights Watch about your 'reeducation camps' in committee today. Not really all that bad. But a little bit, I guess."

Price gasped, aghast. "_That was—that was you!_" he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at McKinley."Aw man, I knew it!"

McKinley laughed contentedly. "See, that's what you get when you underestimate me. Now are you going to just stand there or are you going back inside or are you coming to get some food?"

"I guess…I guess food sounds okay."

"Okay, then come on, we're in walking distance of the hotel and there's a really shitty—but cheap—pizza place on the way."

* * *

><p>McKinley put two cups of coffee and two paper plates holding large, greasy slices of pizzas on the small table and sat down across from Price.<p>

"Go, ahead, eat up."

"I…heard you ordering. I didn't know you spoke French."

"French and Swahili and I just started studying Kinyarawanda. There's a lot you don't know about me, kiddo." He took a bite. "Let me guess…you studied…Latin? In some expensive prep school? And then Greek in uni? Something biblical or wholly outdated."

Price laughed. "Not even close. I have two semesters of college Spanish. That's it. I'm terrible with languages."

"Huh." He took another bite. "So…I don't get it. Why Georgetown? Why didn't you go to BYU? My parents were always expecting me to go out there."

"I wanted to be in D.C. so I could make contacts and get a good internship, y'know, prepare for law school. Also…I just wanted to get out of Utah."

"Haha, well that part I can understand. It must be stifling out there. But the intensity and competition of D.C.—I don't know, that stuff really bums me out. It's just so cutthroat and vicious, and it's not like I ever want to run for office or have a federal job, so I don't even want to get involved in all of that."

"But that's not—that's just giving up. That's not even trying. You have to if you want a job in IR or government or any form or foreign service, even if you're just interested in non-profits or NGOs. You have to play the game, y'know…you have to be ambitious and aggressive."

"Is that the way you think of pretty much everything? As a game?"

"Isn't it?"

"No, I don't believe so. If the game sucks, you don't have to play along just to get ahead."

"But you do. _You do._ In the short run, going against the system is not going to benefit you. Like it or not, you have to follow the rules and go through the motions up to a certain point if you want to actually make it in American politics."

McKinley shook his head in disgust. "It is…absolutely repulsive that you believe that."

"Hey, I'm just being pragmatic," Price said defensively. "You've got to do the networking and the schmoozing and meet the right people and moderate your views or else you're never going to get in."

"That's such a spineless way to make a name for yourself, though."

"You may not like it, but you have to agree that it's effective."

"It may be effective, get you a job, get you elected to some backwater state rep seat back in Utah, but what's the point?"

"The point is that you have to play along so that you can get to a position where you're the one directing policy. Making policy. That's the point."

"That's just—_augh_—I just don't understand how you can actually believe that that is an acceptable way to lead your life. And you've got it all planned out, haven't you? Graduate with honors in four years, law school, get headhunted by some top lobbying firm, then run for office?"

"That's not exactly it…but it's wise to have a plan. What are you going to do after you finish school?"

"I don't know." McKinley paused, thinking. "Maybe grad school for Development or Human Rights. Maybe Peace Corps or something like that. I'd like to get back to East Africa sometime within the next few years."

"Really?" Price asked.

"Yeah. Is that surprising?"

"I guess not. Do you want to, like, live there?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Nothing really keeping me in the States."

"Oh."

McKinley pushed a cup toward Price. "Here, drink some coffee."

"Oh, no, I don't—thank you."

"Are you serious?" McKinley balked. "You're going to get boozed up but still refuse coffee? Don't be a baby. Drink it. You'll thank me tomorrow. You won't spend the morning in committee wishing you could curl up under the conference table."

"How do you even…?"

"I told you, I take care of the other people on my team, I'm used to this kind of stuff. Whatever they want to do to have fun, I don't judge. But I'll be there to help out if they need it. So what I'm saying is: just _man up and drink some goddamned coffee_."

Price took a cautious sip and grimaced. "Oh _gosh_, this is _awful_."

"Better or worse that the mystery booze from earlier? Do you even know what you drank?"

"I have no idea. I just pointed to something. It was clear? I think?"

"Why did you even do that?"

Price grinned, laughing at himself. "I don't know. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"And now?"

"It seems like…less of a good idea? But…not the worst. I guess."

"Well I guess that's something then." McKinley paused and looked around. "So what's your plan now?"

"I don't know. I think I'm just going to go back to the hotel. I'm pretty tired. Except…I'm not exactly sure where we are."

McKinley sighed. "Fine, I'll take you back."

* * *

><p>"Okay, what floor are you on?" McKinley asked as they approached the bank of elevators.<p>

"Fourteen. …But I don't have a key. …And I'm pretty certain no one is there right now."

"_Are you kidding me_? Why don't you have a key?"

"We're six to a room with only two keys, and I gave mine to one of the other guys at dinner. …And I can't get one from the desk because then they'll change the other two keys."

"Great…just great. You are absolutely hopeless tonight, aren't you?"

"Seriously, you don't have to do anything, I'll just hang out in the lobby."

"No, no, I don't want you to do that... Okay…you can—_augh_—you can stay in my room until someone from your delegation comes back, okay?"

"Okay."

They rode the elevator up in silence and McKinley let them into his room, surprised that none of the other occupants were back yet. Price flopped down on one of the twin beds. McKinley sat on the end of the bed and took off his shoes. He took a water bottle from the dresser and tossed it to Price. "Here, drink this."

Price obliged the command. "Why are you…why are you helping me out?"

"Because it didn't look like anyone else would."

Price leaned back against the headboard and said sadly, "I don't think anyone notices me…outside of committee anyway."

"Oh, cut the self-pitying bullshit. That's never constructive."

"I'm not wrong. …I'm awesome, but…I don't think my team likes me very much. I mean…they think I'm awesome…they _respect_ me…but they don't really like me…I don't think."

"Well you _can_ kind of be a stubborn ass sometimes."

"Yeah…I know," he said in an acquiescent tone. "You're not perfect either…you're kind of…bitchy."

"Okay…unprovoked but accurate, I guess." McKinley sat crosslegged at the foot of the bed and opened his computer.

"What're you working on?" Price asked, turning over onto his stomach and resting on his elbows, propping up his head in his hands, watching McKinley type.

"Just archiving," he answered distractedly. "Work for a professor."

"Why're you working now?"

"Because this needs to be done on Monday and as much as I like taking a four-day break from work, I can't. It's not like I'm getting any money from my parents to pay for school, so I can't afford to take time off."

"What do you—oh, because of the—oh." Price looked around anxiously as McKinley focused on his work. "So how do you think awards will go tomorrow?"

"Do you ever _not_ talk shop? Didn't I tell you my 'no MUN talk from midnight to six' rule already?"

"_Come on_. Who do you think will win? My delegates in the GAs are looking solid, except Yale's Russian Fed's have been pretty much running DiSec and SocHum. West Point is looking good. Our guy in the DNC has a lock on best. Michigan State has a new kid in the Ad-Hoc that's been pulling some crazy awesome stuff; looking really promising, could be an upset for Benedict."

McKinley sighed and leaned back from the computer. "I don't know. I haven't been paying much attention to that stuff. My two in the WHO were having problems with the chair, and everyone in SpecPol seems to be complaining about a bunch of delegates being off-policy, but that's usual stuff. Aside from that, my delegates are happy, so that all I'm really concerned about."

"Well…who else is going to win in _our_ committee?"

"The Minister of Environment is doing well; he picked up the pace today. The US Ambassador has been consistently on policy. The, uh, the Minister of Interior has been writing some good directives, I guess—"

"Directives don't win awards, though," Price corrected. "And she barely spoke during the whole last session. _Maybe_ she could get a verbal comm. Maybe."

"So…who's winning best?"

"Well…I don't want to be rude," Price said, "But I don't think there's really a question about that."

McKinley spat out an affronted laugh. "_Of course._ Of course you think that."

"What? You don't—I mean, you don't really think that you're going to win best, do you? I mean, you've been doing well, but I mean, _come on_. Outstanding is still really good, it's just a slightly smaller gavel."

"_Oh please_, I got us out of today's mess while you were dicking around with the whole Vice President thing."

Price sat up on his knees. "You mean how I traced the attempt on the President's life back to the Vice President and had him arrested and he's now awaiting trial? Minor stuff, I guess. And, yeah, you handled that Chavez situation _really_ well, we didn't come out looking like the bad guys _at all_."

"It was a no-win situation; we made the best of it."

"I don't know, if I were in your position I think I would have handled it more…_diplomatically_."

"Oh, _would you have_? Well, it's good to hear that you would be able to do everything perfectly by yourself. _Augh_, why are you like this? You know, you'd be a lot cuter if you weren't such an egotistical asshole all the time."

The perfunctory compliment behind the insult was completely lost on Price. "What? Well you'd be a lot nicer if you didn't use sarcasm and vulgarity all the time to mask your insecurities and bitterness."

"Ooh, look, it's Mr. Psychology Minor, getting all psychoanalytical on me. _Spare me_."

"I think you just proved my point."

"And I think you should just fuck right off."

"See? There it is again."

"I hate…_so many_ things about you," McKinley seethed.

Price just smirked. He chuckled smugly as McKinley continued to scowl, then in an instantaneous decision, fell forward and kissed McKinley sloppily on the lips.

McKinley leaned back and said steadily, "What…in the fuck…are you doing?"

"I…I don't know," Price stammered.

"You're drunk."

"_No I'm not_…not anymore…not as much…I think." He looked around nervously, then threw himself forward with renewed confidence and kissed McKinley again, harder.

McKinley pushed Price back and shook his head in confusion. "And yet you did it again. What is your _deal_? What are you eve—" Price shut him up with another deep kiss and McKinley, with a snap, returned the sentiment, gripping tight onto Price's shoulders, pressing his mouth forcefully against Price's. He pulled back and asked provocatively with a snarl, "So is that how this is going to go?"

"Yeah," Price said with a cheeky grin, "that's how this is going to go."

"_Fine._" McKinley pushed Price back onto the bed and climbed on top of him, lowering himself down and ravishing Price's mouth with his own. He trailed his lips down Price's chest as he began to unbutton his shirt.

"Y'know," Price said, looking down at him, "I'm winning best tomorrow."

McKinley popped his head up. "_Like hell you are_. You'll watch me walk up and get that gavel and you'll fucking like it."

Price smirked. "Is that so?"

McKinley leaned down and let his lips hover tantalizingly just above Price's. He flicked his gaze up and stared Price in the eyes. With a flirtatious, challenging glint he replied, "Yeah, yeah it is."


End file.
